


Homecoming

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Gentle Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Queer Themes, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), top surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: After yet another discorperation, Crowley returns to Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mention of top surgery and chest dysphoria. I'm a trans guy, and this is a bit of me venting through Crowley.

**1965**

It was late at night when Crowley finally returned to London.   
He had been discorporated, and it had taken him years to finally get his physical body back. He hadn’t meant to die. How was he to know that a trip to America would land him in the crossfire of a gangster firefight?   
When he finally did get his body back, like every other time, it had resorted back to its “default” settings. His body had resorted back to the human form he had been given when he first crawled onto Earth, all those centuries ago in Eden. It was immensely inconvenient getting discorporated, because he’d have to redo all his modifications until he reached his favourite form. He’d need to cut his hair, because really, it’s wholly impractical to walk around with knee-length tresses. And oh, he hated thinking about it, but he’d have to do something about those horrible breasts, those damn things that made narrow-minded humans think he was a woman. He worked so hard to maintain the appearance of a man, and it was unfortunate and frustrating that he and so many humans like him had to subject himself to an invasive operation to do so. At least surgical procedures had advanced since the last time, but they weren’t perfect. He wasn’t looking forward to the immense pain that followed. Oh, and he’d probably want to get his ear pierced again. 

“We’re closed,” he heard Aziraphale say when he knocked on the bookshop door. 

“It’s me,” Crowley said hoarsely. 

He was exhausted from his trip, having had to make his way home from somewhere in the middle of North Africa, where his new body always regenerated.   
The door opened, and Crowley felt his crushing fatigue lighten a bit at seeing his angel’s relieved face. 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, and ushered him inside. 

Aziraphale had known that his friend had been discorporated, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it except wait for him to return. Once the door was closed, he pulled the demon into a frantic and long awaited embrace. Crowley winced. 

“Easy there, angel, ‘m still a bit tingly from regenerating,” he said, and Aziraphale loosened his grip on his shoulder. 

“Ever so sorry,” he apologized. 

“Eh, s’alright. Like breaking in a new pair of shoes,” Crowley replied. 

“You don’t wear shoes,”

“You know what I mean!” 

Aziraphale smiled fondly. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly. 

“Me too. I’ve missed you.”

“Come. You must be exhausted, Crowley. I made up your bed,” Aziraphale told him as he led him upstairs. 

Crowley slept for hours, and didn’t wake up until the next day’s afternoon. He couldn’t sleep in Hell, and his body had gotten quite used to sleeping. His bed smelled like Aziraphale, and so he slept peacefully. 

“Thank you for taking care of the Bentley,” he said when Aziraphale led him outside to the back of the shop. 

As soon as Aziraphale had received word of Crowley’s discorporation, he claimed his beloved car and kept it in pristine condition until he returned. Out of habit, Crowley inspected every corner of his Bentley, although he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t let even so much as a pigeon tarnish his car. 

“Of course, my dear. I couldn’t let it get repossessed,” Aziraphale chuckled. 

“Now I’ve just got to find a surgeon that won’t ask too many questions,” Crowley muttered as he slumped against the backseat. 

“You know you don’t have to go through such a procedure again, dearest. It takes so much out of you,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

“I have to, angel. ‘Sides, they have anesthesia now, y’know. Nothing like Ancient Egypt or Greece.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, shaking away the memory of Crowley having to be restrained to the operating table, an alcohol soaked rag shoved in his mouth as a feeble attempt at sedation. 

“I don’t care how you look, Crowley. I hate seeing you in pain,” he told him. 

“It pains me to see how I look,” Crowley replied sadly. 

Aziraphale leaned against him, now that they were both sitting in the back of the Bentley. 

“I’m just glad you’re back,” he sighed. 

Crowley ran his hands through Aziraphale’s soft curls, and inhaled his soothing scent. 

“I love you, angel,” he murmured. 

Aziraphale turned around to look at him. Crowley loved seeing his face, framed by white curls, dark intelligent eyes gazing at him. 

“I love you too, Crowley. So much,” Aziraphale replied, and kissed his forehead. 

“Mmm, I like it when you touch me,” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale gave him a strange look. 

“Ssorry, shit. That came out wrong,” he hissed in embarrassment. 

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale assured him. 

“I think it’s cute when you say things like that.”

Crowley bit his lip and looked down. 

“You can kiss me, you know,” he mumbled. 

Aziraphale moved closer, and cupped his chin. He took his time, tenderly kissing Crowley on the forehead, on his cheek, and finally, on his lips. Crowley instinctively moved against him. 

They shifted, and now Aziraphale was looking down at him, and Crowley was sprawled out on the seat beneath him.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asked as he moved in for another kiss. 

“S’ perfect, angel,” Crowley said blissfully. 

Tension escaped him under the weight of Aziraphale’s body, comforted by the closeness and intimacy.

“It’s been so cold in Hell,” he said quietly. 

“I need your warmth.”

Aziraphale pushed closer, and Crowley could feel his heartbeat against his chest. He felt so alive, so human, so loved. Aziraphale kept his hands in the proximity of Crowley’s face, combing his fingers through his dark hair, caressing his cheeks, kissing him. 

Crowley gently led Aziraphale’s hand to his chest. 

“You can, um, touch me there too, if you want,” he mumbled. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Aziraphale asked. 

He kept his hand on his stomach, not wanting to trigger dysphora from touching Crowley’s chest. 

“I, um, don’t...don’t mind as much if it’s you,” Crowley reassured him. 

Aziraphale touched his chest, and kissed his shirt above his collarbone. 

“I love every part of you,” he said earnestly.

“Will you, um, be there for my surgery?” Crowley asked. 

“I always am, my dear. I promise I’ll be there for you, whatever you choose to do,” Aziraphale vowed. 

Crowley propped himself up, and pulled Aziraphale in for another embrace. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighed. 

“You do, my dear,” Aziraphale shushed him, and kissed him again. 

Their limbs tangled together, and for that moment in time, his insecurities weren’t as loud in his mind’s cacophony. He was loved, and he loved Aziraphale, and he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that when demons regenerate, their bodies look like how they did the first time they got a human body. Their body also regenerations wherever they first came on Earth, so for Crowley that would be somewhere in North Africa, where Eden was.


End file.
